The Chronicles Of Pendragon
by WhenWarWins
Summary: 'Life is like a battle. A mess of women and men and blood. The strongest and best collide after two thousand years of preparation on the chosen field. It's for the blood on your lips, the dirt in your hair, the arrows in the quivers and the steel in the sheath, if you are lucky. It's life and death and neither and both, and there is nothing else like it.'


Song - _Flesh, _Simon Curtis

* * *

"_The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again._"

- Homer from _The Iliad_.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER - I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING. EVERYTHING BELONGS TO THEIR OWNERS.**

She notched an arrow and pulled the tense string of the bow back. Green eyes marked where the arrow was supposed to go. She waited a long moment before letting the arrow fly. It struck a little to the left of the intended target, but not much, a thing that she was perfectly fine with; it wasn't like every shot from a bow was perfect in any case. The woman stood, letting her left hand slip down to brush the dirt and small pebbles that clung to the knee and calf of her dark, fitted trousers.

She was on the roof of an abandoned castle; Norman, she assumed, judging by the architecture – medieval in any case. Shooting an arrow from the high, arching roof of a castle wasn't the easiest thing to do, but she needed something to do pass the hours until the two people she was living with finally grew fed up with each other's bodies and came out to talk to her.

Which she would have to wait until the sun set, she noted. The sun was beginning to rise and the coal black of night was slowly beginning to become filled with the new light of dawn. She stood and slipped the bow over her shoulder, giving into the nagging voice in her head that was slowly raising to a yelling volume for her to find shelter and save herself from being burnt by the sunlight. She let her eyes slip back to their natural black before setting the bow down, leaving it for her next use or some brave explorer to find it.

**xxx**

The quickly growing light streamed in from between the gaps in the blinds that were closed shut over the small window that was across the room from the even smaller bed. Pillows that were covered in a dark purple cloth were strewn across the surface of the bed, one nearly falling off said bed. A woman ran a hand through her thick dark hair and reached for the sheet, covering her bare form with it. When the man beside her began to pout, she leaned over to kiss him gently. It wasn't enough for him though, as he reached up to cup her jaw, attempting to pull her closer.

''Stop,'' she said, pulling back with a small laugh. ''You had me all night.''

''And nights should be longer.'' He tossed a smirk in her direction before reaching to his right for a pillow that he set behind his head. ''But Susan -''

''No. Don't ruin the moment.'' The brunette shifted closer to her lover, loving the ache in her muscles. ''Dorian, we hardly ever have five minutes, never mind a night together.''

''I know, I know.'' Instead of giving her another of his party boy smirks or even a small smile, Dorian reached out and wound his fingers to hers. ''Between you and your father and my Court and Queen, it's a shock that I can even see you without someone stabbing us both for a supposed 'betrayal.' '' Dorian raised his free hand to put finger quotes around his last word before pulling on the hand that Susan was still holding onto. ''Come here.'' She let herself be pulled closer and curled up beside him, adjusting the mussed covers as she did so; that way, anyone who walked in wouldn't see anything.

''Where's Hai gone off to?'' Everything just seemed lazy and quiet; she hated to be the one to break the moment that time. Dorian shifted to push the sheet down a little so he could lightly kiss her shoulder.

''Last I checked, she was going to shoot arrows off a castle roof.'' Dorian gave her a look that clearly said _so there_ before speaking. ''That was before we went to bed last night.''

''At what? Not humans?'' Susan pulled back from her lover to look at his dark eyes, rather than his jaw as something akin to fear pooled in her stomach. ''She wouldn't.''

''No. She would, wouldn't she.'' Dorian lifted an eyebrow at Susan, causing a brief flare of jealousy to flare within her - she had always wanted to be able to do that. Dorian bent his head to kiss her bare shoulder again, before trailing a series of kisses up the pale skin of her neck. ''At apples, sweetheart.''

''She is still sadistic for doing that. A queen should behave better.'' Despite the fact that Dorian could tell that she was kidding around with him, he couldn't stop the guilt that blossomed in his chest whenever he thought of the kingdom - or queendom, rather - that she had to abandon. ''Hey. You okay?'' She asked, seeing his face shut down.

''Yeah.'' Dorian answered after a long moment, clearing his throat before tightening his grip on her fingers. That action brought Susan's attention to their entwined hands, and she couldn't help but mentally catalogue the differences; just like she did every time. His fingers were long and lean, a pianists hands, while hers were shorter and she had a scar or two on the palm of her hands and on her fingers - leftovers from the world that she was once a queen of. She didn't know what triggered his sudden mood change, but she shifted so that she was almost straddling him in an attempt to even out his mood. ''Don't worry about me.''

''Too bad, because I do.'' Susan jumped sightly before letting her head fall back as Dorian did two things that caused her to moan out in sudden pleasure - kissing her neck again, sucking softly while sliding his hand up her thigh to the curve of her hip, gripping gently. ''Like I said earlier, you have had me all night.''

''And nights should be longer.'' Dorian repeated, although he did pull back. ''But we will find a way.''

''I know, I know. But why us?'' At Dorian's confused look, she hurried to elaborate. ''I'm not saying that I don't want this life, but things like this have been going on for centuries and we are only just _now_ stepping in? Why?''

''There was a reason I was walking that street, just like there was a reason that you ran out of milk and wanted to make tea that sunset.'' Dorian pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, lips lingering atop of her hair for a long moment. ''But things are happening to fast and the fallout when it all shatters will be larger than anything that we have dealt with before.''

''So, you want me to consider it like a storm inside a small glass jar - sooner rather than later, it will shatter and we will be forced to pick up the pieces.'' Susan slipped from Dorian's embrace and crossed the room to locate his shirt. She found it tossed near the bookshelf and reached into the dresser for a fresh pair of underwear.

''If you want to look at it thus. Mmm, you know I like you in purple lace.'' Dorian slipped out of bed himself and wrapped his arms around her waist again, with no regard for his own modesty. ''Never mind in my shirts.''

''Well, what else and I supposed to wear? A long cloak?'' Susan rested her hand on Dorian's while her other dug around in the drawers for a pair of boxers. Finding a clean pair, she handed them to him before slipping from his grip and heading out of their bedroom. ''Coffee?'' She called back.

''Yes please.'' Dorian pulled on the boxers and stretched, biting back a wince at the pain that seemed to be concentrated across his shoulders. Looking over his shoulder, he could see one or two bright red lines that had probably caused by heightened emotions; it was something that happened if they got out of control and it was something that neither of them bothered to heal. If he was being honest with himself, he found it kind of hot.

His head perked up when the smell of coffee reached his nose, and Dorian was bounding down the stairs. He arrived in the kitchen entryway just in time to see his woman pouring milk into a chipped mug. Dorian watched as she added sugar to the other mug before stirring them both with spoons. He reached for the small table that sat just inside the kitchen, almost outside it, and picked up his phone. He stepped forward into the kitchen, stepping across the tiled floor quickly to wrap his arms around Susan's waist again.

''Hello.'' He leaned forward and pecked her cheek before stepping back, reaching for the loaf of bread on the counter top. It was small, quiet moments like this when they both agreed that all the years of pain and sin and watching people they cared about die was worth it. Dorian jumped when she slid her palm over his spine, fingertips brushing over the raised marks. ''What?'' Dorian snapped, instantly regretting the harsh tone when Susan's fingers lifted so they were hovering over his back.

''There we go.'' Susan said quietly and ran her index finger down each line. Dorian could feel the sensation that he could only describe as _graceful_ worked its way down over his back. Susan pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed the back of neck, using her nose to nudge aside some of his dark hair from where it lay. ''All better.''

''Thank you, _kullake_.'' Dorian turned and wrapped an arm around Susan nudging her back to where the steaming coffee mugs lay on the circular table. ''And it means dearie.''

''Really? What language?'' Susan twisted and took her mug, blowing gently on the drink to cool it. Dorian had no intentions of doing so - he tossed back a gulp and swallowed as quickly as she could.

''Estonian.'' Dorian shrugged and set his mug down gently. ''Maybe I'll wait a while before scalding my tongue tomorrow.''

''You are always doing that.'' Susan teased him. To Dorian, though, it felt more like a reminder. ''When will you ever learn?''

**xxx**

''Right this way, Mr. Herondale.'' He set the magazine aside and stood to follow the young woman though what turned out to be a complex maze of passages. He didn't have the ego necessary anymore to think he could have found his way though without someone to show him the way. As depressing as he found that thought, he knew it was the truth. ''Here we are, Mr.''

''William, please.'' He told her, stepping though the doorway. It seemed to be a control room of some kind, one where there were television screens set into the wall opposite him at regular intivals; William could only assume the images playing on them were from cameras inside the cell.

''Who's this?'' A young woman with dark hair asked, turning in her chair. She seemed to be in charge, or have some authority, because William's guide hesitated under her dark gaze.

''This is William Herondale, Miss. You asked for him.'' His guide looked down to the floor briefly, before looking back up after a moment.

''Very well. You can leave us.'' While the guide did as she was told, the brunette woman also turned and dismissed the other two people in the room. Once the door was shut behind the last one, she didn't waste any time with greetings.

''Welcome to Reducation, Miss Sage.'' The dark haired woman said next to William, leaning over to speak into a microphone of some kind. ''We hope that you are pleased to be here.'' There was one occupant of the cell; a girl - a naked girl, William noted, keeping his expression neutral. He couldn't help biting the inside of his cheek and digging his nails into his palms; covering vampire kills and keeping the world running, he could deal with, but not torturing a _child_.

''What, exactly is she in here for?'' William asked, trying to keep his voice even.

''The usual of heathens like her - having an alliance with the enemy, becoming closer than what is right and it seems that the poor girl had the misfortune of falling under the spell of one and beginning a relationship.'' The dark hair woman rattled off the list from a nearby clip board. As she leant over, William could see the glint of gold on her cheek. ''We suspect that she was compelled to do it.''

''What do you mean?''

''She was wearing a cross, and we have told her that it is clearly a sign that she can be healed and cured of what those vile creatures have done to her. In any chance, it is a sign she can be saved.'' If William hadn't gained the ability to keep his mouth shut over the past hundred years or so, he would have said that the Alchemists reasons hadn't changed much since the days they were trying to turn metals and stones into gold - greed and a bloated case of self importance.

''That's nice.'' William mused. He saw a file resting on the edge of the table and reached for it, flipping it open to see a series of photos of the girl - young woman, William corrected himself. She seemed to be about eighteen, or even nineteen, with blonde hair like spun gold and brown eyes. He set the file back down on the table and flipped through the pictures, looking at them. There wasn't anything remarkable about the pictures, or the girl for that matter, which Willaim was able see. ''Can I see her?''

Clearly surprised, the female Alchemist blinked in surprise. ''I'm not sure that it would be wise to allow someone from the outside world in to see her. I'm already going to be in trouble as it is.''

''Didn't you allow me in here for an outsider's view on a troubled young woman? If that is working towards the greater good, as you all claim to be doing, how can you get in trouble for it?'' William shifted closer and reached out a hand to touch the lily tattoo on her cheek. ''Or does this stop you from helping others now?''

''No.'' She stepped back and reached out and pressed a button on the table top. A door swung open and she dug a torch out from under the desk. ''You'll need this,'' she claimed, handing it to him. William was confused, but took it anyway; that changed when he stepped into the small cell, clicking it on. It was a small cell, with a tap and toilet in the far corner. William turned on his heel, shining the torchlight in a circle around him until her found the cell's sole occupant - the girl he recognized from her file, Sydney Sage. Her knees were curled to her chest, and her eyes were filled with a fire William found a little refreshing as they met his in the dim light.

''What?'' She snapped at him. Her arms were wrapped around her, keeping the majority of herself covered, but William found the old Victorian values rising within him, as they often did. He set the torch down and shrugged out of his jacket slowly. He ignored Sydney's sharp inhale of breath and slid the jacket over to her, bending to pick up the torch as he did so.

''Aren't you cold?'' William dropped into a seating position opposite her, one knee bent, the other extended straight. ''I would have through that you were.''

''Are you here to prepare me for my execution? Because I won't tell you anything.'' At that, William raised an eyebrow.

''Why would I want you to tell me anything? I only came in here to see if you were cold or needed someone to talk to.'' William then lent forward, keeping in mind that they were being recorded. ''But you seem like someone who would _lie to survive_.'' Sydney frowned, confused by his words - especially the emphasis on the last few.

''And if I don't want to live?''

''Then that is indeed a pity. From what I hear, you make a fine Alchemist.'' William settled back on his heels and looked at the girl in his coat. While the dark colour contrasted with her pale skin, the dark navy colour fit in perfectly with the bruises on her cheekbone and jaw.

''But you aren't an Alchemist.'' Sydney was sure of it. Apart from the absence of the typical lily done in gold ink on his cheek, there was something about the way he held himself, the way he spoke. The man sitting opposite her shifted slightly, almost like he was suddenly nervous, and Sydney caught a glimpse of thick black markings that curled up over his collarbone and down his chest as the collar of his dark grey Henley was pulled down, if only for a moment.

''No. You are right. I don't belong to your order. However, you all seem to have a set of pretty extreme beliefs. Care to share?'' He asked with a rakish grin.

''I don't even know your name and I'm sure that you know mine.'' Sydney asked something inside her coating her tongue in something bitter as she dodged his question.

''I am William, but call me Will.'' He held out his hand and waited for a moment for Sydney to shake it. When she didn't, he lowered it back down and repeated, ''care to share?''

''No, not really.''

''That's a pity. Tell me what you think of the beliefs all Alchemist's share?''

''No, not really.''

**xxx**

Clary hurried up the steps of the small house in the English countryside, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself as she did so. The warm front that had plagued the area had left a day or so earlier, brining in a wave of cooler weather as the world moved into winter, even as the sun shined brightly. The wind suddenly sprung up and whipped its way through the air, causing her loose red hair to blow up and tangle around her face. Clary raised an impatient hand to brush her hair away from her face as she dug through her pockets with her other hand, looking for a key; eventually, she felt the cool metal come into contact with her fingertips and closed her fingers around it and reached forward to set the silver key in the lock. She was able to unlock it, and went to push the door open when a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, the other hand coming up to cover her mouth.

''What are you doing?'' Black eyes met green eyes as Clary stared at the man now in front of her.

''Nothing much, Jonathan.'' The wind came up them, ruffling his blonde hair as Clary tied hers back with the band on her wrist; she lifted her gaze to the house that was now a short distance away. Her brother had pulled her away to where they now stood under a wilting apple tree. A half-rotten apple lay near his boot, and he kicked it away in distaste.

''Clarissa; you are the one that reached out to me, remember?'' Jonathan reached out a hand and grabbed Clary's wrist, making her face him. ''So tell me what you want of me.''

''I just want someone to know where I am.''

''Yes, because that is reassuring.'' Jonathan wrapped an arm around Clary, and even though it made bile rise in her throat, she let him. ''And you are my sister, the only living member of our family. So, sister dearest, tell me why you reached out to me, your sworn enemy.''

''Nothing much. I just needed someone to know where I am.'' Clary paraphrased herself, shrugging and ignored the odd look her brother gave her.

''Only three people say that, scared people, a traitor, and scared traitors. '' Jonathan looked down at Clary and narrowed his eyes at her. ''And if are betraying me I'll kill everyone you love.''

''That threat might work, except for the fact that everyone I love is dead, missing and Alec is locked up in your basement.'' Clary shoved her brother's arm off her and stepped back. She might have agreed to go with him to stop the coming war, and so far he had kept his word, but he didn't have any right to control her.

''Touché.'' Jonathan smirked and gave Clary a shove that almost sent her to the ground; she assumed it was a subtle way of telling her that he was in charge here, not her. ''Go on then, make the dead proud.'' Clary ignored his snide comment, but began to walk back up the gently sloping ground, away from her brother. She found the key on the steps of the small house, sliver against the wood steps. She unlocked the door and couldn't help but blink at the sudden change in light.

Once her eyes had adjusted, Clary was able to see the interior of the house - shockingly bare and empty. There was a mirror that was hung over a coat rack to her left, and a door that had been left ajar to her right, but there wasn't much else in the immediate area. Clary, feeling like the dumb blonde in every horror movie, stepped forward. The floorboards creaked under her sneakers as she stepped forward. Turns out, there wasn't much in the rest of the house, anyway; only white covers over the few pieces of furniture that _was_ there.

**xxx**

Sookie brushed her skirt down as she sat on the edge of the stage, avoiding the patches of blood that still remained. She was happy with Alcide, her werewolf boyfriend, or so she tried to tell herself. However, new reports of Hepatitis V were coming in daily, and she was reaching the point where she couldn't just sit there and do nothing. While she hoped that the one-vampire-one-human thing worked out, realistically, she knew that something like that couldn't ever work for long.

''It's just a glorified version of the Tru Blood system.'' Lost in her increasingly morbid thoughts, Sookie didn't notice. She flinched at the sharp, bitter tone that spoke from across the room before turning her head to look at the speaker. Sookie narrowed her own brown eyes at Warlow, making an effort to push down the fear that curled in her stomach from when he had shown up at her door - alive - several nights ago.

''Shut up.''

''Ah, _there_ is it is.'' Warlow leaned forward before settling back in the bar, crossing one ankle over the other. ''That spitfire you have; I thought it was gone for good. Fear doesn't look that nice on you, beloved.''

''Don't fucking call me that.'' Sookie seethed at him before she forced herself to turn away.

''Like it or not, your precious Bill abandoned you and shoved you towards me. I'm only waiting for a time in which I can make you vampire.'' Sookie shuddered and tried to not to remember what Bill had done to her. ''And I think that time is near.''

''Why else would you invite her to the faerie club where you killed everyone in?'' Warlow turned, baring fangs at the newcomer; hazel eyes narrowed themselves as the stranger stepped forward, boots leaving a trail of blood prints.

''Who the fuck are you?'' Warlow snarled at him.

''Cesare.'' The newcomer - Cesare - had a slight accent that sounded vaguely Italian. ''And you would do best to leave this place.''

''Why?''

''Because.'' Cesare moved forward and dropped onto the edge of the stage, next to Sookie. ''Hello you.''

''Hi.'' Sookie said in reply. A mix of worry and fear coated the inside of her mouth as she looked back at Cesare. She couldn't hear his thoughts, so she knew he was a vampire; hard hazel eyes fit in well with his skin tone.

''You are a quiet one.'' Cesare looked at her a moment longer before turning back to Warlow. ''And if you are to turn her, turn her soon.''

''It is my choice of when I will become a maker. I have waited over five millennia for her.'' Warlow snarled.

''I might have worn a Cardinal's robe, but there is nothing ecclesiastical or evangelical about me now.'' Cesare replied with a dark chuckle and smirk that made even Warlow give pause; if only for a moment. Even he could see that there was a power he had not encountered inside this young man and he was already plotting how to best use it to his advantage.

**xxx**

Jefferson reached for the teapot and poured himself a fresh cup on peppermint tea; exhaling softly as he saw he was using the last teabag. He added a small amount of sugar into the bottom of the cup in the hopes that it might make the bitter tea taste better - he wasn't the sort of man that slept often, and using tea to calm his system down was the last thing he wanted to do. He lifted the mug in two hands, enjoying the warmth on his palms before taking a gulp of it. The hot water he had used in making the tea had almost cooled down enough for him to easily drink it.

He gathered his courage and looked towards the man, waiting down the hall. He might have been behind a closed door, but it didn't change the fact that a stranger had come to a town in Maine that didn't even exist anymore. He was still standing across the house from it, with the teapot sitting on the bookshelf that was stacked with dog - eared paperback books and the white mug was clasped in his hands. To be honest, Jefferson couldn't tell if it was the fact that there was no town but he was in the town or if it was the fact that someone he had never heard of had come into the town-that-wasn't-there-anymore that had sent him scrambling away; he had ended up making peppermint tea in the kitchen, needing to do something with his hands.

He forced himself to set the mug next to the teapot, careful not to knock it over and crossed to house to the doorway, keeping his steps long and slow. Jefferson had tried to stay out of the shit that seemed to keep on happening in Storybrooke after she had gotten his daughter back; thankfully, she wasn't trapped in the ghost of a town - when Pan cast the new curse that sent everyone back to the Enchanted Forest, Jefferson found himself walking empty streets. It seems that the same thing had happened to the supposedly dead Pan - and possibly Emma, since her name was what the stranger had claimed was important. Jefferson mused on the year of solitude as he stepped inside the room, locking eyes with green ones.

**xxx**

Adam woke to a wicked pain that radiated down over his nose and across his cheekbones. His arms were hauled up behind his head, and his knees were cramped up to his chest. He made himself wait a long moment before attempting to open his eyes - partly due to the pains that assaulted his senses and partly due to the fact that the last memories he had were all about fire and brimstone.

He was in what seemed to be a warehouse of some kind, filled with paintings. They were generally abstract, with random splurges of colour in patterns that Adam couldn't begin to comprehend. The space looked lived in, even though there the top items and free surfaces seemed to be covered in a light layer of dust. After he had gauged his surroundings, Adam slowly shifted his legs out, easing the tightly wound muscles. He than chanced an attempt at pulling his arms down, but felt the cool brace of good - quality steel handcuffs around his wrists. A click of a gun of some kind was the next thing he noticed.

''Fuck.'' Adam swore and stopped moving.

''I'm Beth. Wanna tell me how you ended up in my car?'' While the source of the decidedly feminie voice was hard to pinpoint, Adam craned his neck, turning his head. Over his shoulder, he was just able to see a young woman with dark hair sitting in a swivel desk chair. In one hand, she had a gun Adam assumed was loaded and a small, slim object that had a hot pink cover was in her other hand - a cell phone, Adam realised after a second. ''After I died, of course?''

''Fuck.'' Adam swore again and let his head fall back. He had no doubt that this was an illusion of some kind, but something deep inside of him told him this was real. He couldn't tell if it was the fact that he had never seen this woman or the way everything seemed so bloody dull after living by fire for so long; or perhaps it was none of that.

**xxx**

**Fandoms;** Kiesha'ra, The Chronicles Of Narnia, Dorian Grey, The Infernal Devices, Bloodlines, The Mortal Instruments, True Blood, The Borgias, Once Upon A Time, Supernatural and Orphan Black


End file.
